


Let Me Be Your Wish Come True (Upon a Shooting Star)

by Ellory



Series: Pureblood Wizarding Culture [9]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Aristocracy, F/M, Genderbending, Pureblood Culture, Royalty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-24 06:20:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12006873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellory/pseuds/Ellory
Summary: It felt like Mother Magic was laughing in his face, taunting him, asking him if he had really expected the quest for love to be so simple.





	Let Me Be Your Wish Come True (Upon a Shooting Star)

**Seventeen:**

 

Severus Snape sat at his desk in the front of the Potions classroom, hands shaking where the students couldn't see them. His whole life he had awaited and dreaded the time when Mother Magic would point out his future soul-bonded—if he could manage to protect her until they bonded.

 

Mother Magic had finally given him the sign.

 

Heiress Liatris Potter would be his wife . . . if she didn't die first.

 

He tuned out the student's chatter and wrung his hands together like a weak-willed witch. Severus despised the action, but performed it unconsciously. Once he realized what he was doing, he sneered and stopped. He had better control than that, didn't he?

 

But then the sight of Liatris's broomstick bucking and flipping upside-down appeared in his mind. She had been hanging on by her fingertips at one point, well over one hundred feet in the air. If he hadn't been focusing his magic to a knife's edge, and muttering counter curses for all he was worth, she would have fallen. What if he hadn't been able to catch her with a levitation charm? What if . . . ?

 

Even with all the respect the purebloods paid him, they couldn't understand him. No one knew what it was like to be a member of the Royal and Most Ancient House of Prince, except those born into it. Because it wouldn't do for the remnant of King Arthur's bloodline to just fall in love and have things work out. No. That was much too simplistic and not prince-like at all. Everyone knew that a prince only got a princess after he rescued her from danger—and thus it was with Prince courtships.

 

Every male member of the Royal and Most Ancient House of Prince had one chance at love in a lifetime. Just one. The chosen witch would be pointed out to him when she was seventeen years old, and he would have to protect her from magical challenges, events, disasters, and so forth, until the bonding. If he failed, if she died, then a loveless bonding of convenience was all that remained in his future. After all, what good was a prince that couldn't save his princess? He would be a Prince in name only.

 

Severus looked up at his students. Liatris was grinning at her partner, Daphne Greengrass. Despite being in different Houses, the girls got along well. Discrimination had practically been eliminated at Hogwarts when the self-named Dark Lord attempted to Brand the Dark Mark on Severus's arm. The purebloods in Voldemort's employ had revolted and destroyed him. They weren't overly fond of Muggles, but attacking the sole surviving member of royal wizarding blood was suicidal at best.

 

Liatris had her father's black hair and her mother's green eyes. She was fine-boned and didn’t even come up to his shoulders. Worst of all, she was only seventeen years old, and Mother Magic had seen fit to drag her into a game of life or death. She deserved to be safe, and Severus would do his best to ensure that happened.

 

If his best friend's daughter died because of him. . . .

 

The chimes that meant class was over rang. "Vials on my desk," he ordered.

 

The students scurried up and set their vials filled with potions on his desk. Most of them were atrocious, and that was being lenient on his part. The dunderheads must’ve paid the Ministry off to continue in Potions. Very few wizards and witches put in the effort to improve their brewing skills; they were too busy waving their wands. A wand wouldn't always be the most effective help, though. Some things were only possible because of potions.

 

"Heiress Potter, stay after," Severus commanded, as she gathered up her books. The last thing he wanted to do was burden her with the truth, but he wouldn't leave her ignorant, because that would only put her in more danger.

 

"Yes, Professor?" Liatris asked. She held the strap of her bag in one hand, but it was on the floor next to her feet.

 

Severus waited until the last student—Draco Malfoy—left the room, before speaking. He had never had difficulty telling people anything before; words were his cutting, biting, and eloquent friends. They rolled off his tongue and either flayed or uplifted those who heard them. But now he found himself in the position of telling a pureblood witch that she would have no choice in her future spouse. That is, if she survived until her twenty-first birthday (when Potter maidens were allowed to bond by family law).

 

He wasn't naïve enough to think witches didn't dream of love. He was about to crush those dreams—of regular courtship, and slowly falling in love, and discovering which wizard she wanted as her lord.

 

Delicacy wasn't going to make a difference; it wouldn't change the brutal truth. So Severus said, "Mother Magic has chosen you." Liatris ducked her head, so he couldn't see her face. Severus wondered what she had to hide: fear, joy, disgust? He was nineteen years her senior, and, suddenly, Severus felt like a monster.

 

He waited patiently, but she didn't say a single thing. "I'll do everything in my power to keep you safe, Heiress Potter." Liatris nodded, but didn't respond to his announcement. Did she believe him? Severus pinched the bridge of his nose, and then sighed. "You may go," he whispered, keeping his pain to himself. Liatris turned and fled the room, as if a Cerberus were on her heels.

 

He pulled a bottle of Firewhisky from his desk drawer and drank straight from it, before wiping his mouth on his sleeve. Then, losing control at last, he chucked the bottle at the classroom wall and watched as it shattered into pieces, amber liquid sloshing down the stone like arterial spray. Severus dropped his head in his hands and whispered, "She can't even stand to be in my presence."

 

**Eighteen:**

 

Severus leaned against the wall outside of the Gryffindor Quidditch team's locker room. He was listing every Dark curse that he knew as he waited for Liatris to finish changing and come out. It had taken Dark Magic to demolish the Bludger that had been tracking her throughout the game. At one point, it almost hit her in the head, which would've crushed her skull.

 

He was more than aware of the dirty looks several Muggle-born students were giving him—as if he were a lecher. He didn't have twisted thoughts about Liatris (she was precious!), but those glances preyed upon his fears. Severus had always held an extra level of disgust for dirty, old men who sought the attention of young ladies.

 

Now, except for the dirty part, that description fit him.

 

The door to the locker room opened, and Liatris stepped out. Her eyes widened when she caught sight of him. "Come here, please, Heiress Potter," Severus said. Even though he knew the Bludger hadn't hit her, he felt compelled to cast diagnostic charms.

 

Liatris obeyed, but her footsteps were slow. Severus got the distinct feeling that she would rather be trying to avoid a murderous Bludger again. It hurt, and he fought the urge to press a hand against his aching chest. Ever since he had told her the truth, she had avoided him whenever possible. She was the last one to show up for class and the first one out the door.

 

Severus had cried himself to sleep—just once—and then lied to himself over and over, telling himself that it didn't matter if she hated him.

 

But Severus was a Master Legilimens, as well as a Master Occlumens. Because of his skill in the Mind Arts, he couldn't lie to himself and make himself believe it was true. The words were nothing more than a pathetic attempt to reassure himself, which failed. He cared that Liatris avoided him like the wizarding plague; he cared very, very much.

 

After muttering a few diagnostic charms, Severus froze as a sickly gray aura seeped from Liatris's skin. It took him longer than it normally would have to react to what had been revealed, because he was so horrified. Liatris had been poisoned! How long ago? Why hadn't he noticed before? Why? She could've died without him even knowing she was in danger. . . . The thought was sobering.

 

Severus thrust one hand into his robe pocket and pulled out an antidote that worked on most poisons; he always kept several vials of it Shrunken in his pocket, because assassination attempts against royalty still happened on occasion. He wasn't in a hurry to die. "Drink it," he ordered, after pulling out the stopper. She wrinkled her nose at the smell. Severus wasn't surprised; it was revolting. "You've been poisoned," Severus stated. Liatris jerked, eyes rising to meet his for just a moment; they were filled with terror. "This is an antidote. Drink it."

 

Liatris took the vial from him and downed the contents, face twisted in a grimace. Then she handed it back to him and retreated a step, putting more distance between them.

 

Severus managed to keep a straight face long enough to say, "From now on you will submit yourself to a diagnostic charm after every meal. Do you understand?" Liatris nodded, but, again, didn't say a word. "You're dismissed."

 

As she bolted away, Severus put the empty vial back in his pocket. His throat felt like it was swelling shut, but he would not give into the tears again. For a moment, she had almost dropped the vial, because she was avoiding his bare skin when she took it from his hand. What did it matter if Liatris did everything she could to keep from touching him?

 

It's not like that was news to him. She sometimes cringed away from him, as if he were dangerous or abusive.

 

Without an audience now, Severus pressed a hand to his aching chest. Could a heart literally break?

 

**Nineteen:**

 

Dementors. Somehow, someway, there were Dementors on Hogwarts grounds. As if that wasn't bad enough, they were descending on the Quidditch Pitch, swooping down in a cloud of shrieking, black evil toward Liatris—who was fearlessly chasing the Snitch upward.

 

Severus leaped to his feet, wand in his hand, scrambling for a happy memory. They slipped through his mental grasp. He had to have one, right? Everyone had at least one happy memory!

 

The Headmaster's phoenix Patronus flew toward the Dementors, holding them at bay. It didn't drive them back, though, or force them outside the wards. In fact, the mass of Dementors pressed the Patronus backward, little by little.

 

A horde of Dementors had been sent to try to Kiss Liatris, and Severus felt rage burn within him. Why did he have to be part of the royal bloodline? Why did his only chance at a happy future have to be jeopardized every second of every day? Why couldn't she just be safe?

 

_Fine, then_ , Severus thought, _if I don't have a happy enough memory, I'll make one instead_. Crafting memories was dangerous business; if he got it wrong, his understanding of the past would warp. He would never advise anyone to craft a false memory. It was imbecilic. However, to keep Liatris safe, he would allow himself to be a dunderhead in this instance.

 

So Severus turned back time and twisted it in his head. When he said, "Mother Magic has chosen you," to a seventeen-year-old Liatris, she blushed before ducking her head. And when he said, "I'll do everything in my power to keep you safe, Heiress Potter," she beamed up at him, eyes sparkling with trust, and replied, "I know. I believe in you, my Prince."

 

Severus latched onto the new memory like a drowning man, and then raised his wand toward the sky and yelled, " _Expecto Patronum_!" A massive dragon, identical to the one on his ancestor's battle shield, poured from his wand. It flew through the sky, sending the Dementors fleeing as it breathed a silver mist that dissolved every Dementor it touched.

 

"She's falling!" a student screamed.

 

Tearing his gaze away from his Patronus, Severus's heart leaped into his throat. Liatris was tumbling through the air, no broom in sight. He cast a levitation charm at her, but missed, because his hands shook. Biting the inside of his cheek, Severus forced himself to concentrate. The next levitation charm caught her; Severus floated her over into his arms.

 

He had her. She was safe. It did little to assuage the terror of the past few minutes. She was warm and in his arms, where she belonged. Before the thought could fully take hold and transform into something else, her eyes opened.

 

As soon as Liatris saw him, she squeezed her eyes shut and tensed. Then she spoke to him for the first time since he had revealed the truth to her. "Please don't touch me," she whispered.

 

The new memory he had crafted shattered to pieces in his mind, inciting a throbbing headache. It overwhelmed his senses, erasing the feeling of having her held close to his chest. Severus set her on her feet, and then rushed out of the Quidditch stands before he lost control of himself. Because she hadn't blushed, and she hadn't said she trusted him.

 

All Liatris had said to him were four words that filleted his heart. _Please don't touch me_.

 

**Twenty:**

 

Severus felt restless, at first. And then it escalated to antsy. Then, all at once, a sense of doom crushed upon him. He was on his feet and sprinting through the corridors without a second thought. The Gryffindor Quidditch team was practicing tonight, and Liatris always stayed longer than the others to fly for no other reason than because she loved it.

 

Something was wrong. He could feel it.

 

He blasted open the front doors of Hogwarts and ground to a halt. A dragon—Hungarian Horntail, to be specific—was chasing Liatris. It must've escaped from the Forbidden Forest, where it was being held with the other dragons in preparation for the First Task of the Triwizard Tournament.

 

Severus chuckled bitterly. "How cliché. A Prince's greatest enemy: the dragon after his princess." He wanted to rant and rail, to scream about how unfair this all was, and demand that Mother Magic stop sending threats against Liatris. Maybe she would speak with him, would cease flinching away from him, would quit fleeing his presence if he didn't bring such danger into her life. How was he supposed to win her love when death stalked her every step because of his thrice-cursed heritage?

 

"Over here!" Severus yelled.

 

If she heard him, she paid him no mind. Liatris flew around a corner of the castle and out of sight. The dragon's wing scraped against Hogwarts and dust rained down in a cloud. Severus coughed and dodged away from small bits of falling stone. He stood in the courtyard and gazed upward, anxiously awaiting her reappearance.

 

Liatris flew past Gryffindor Tower, the dragon right on her tail. It belched fire; the bristles of her Nimbus 2000 caught on fire. Smoke marked her pathway as she zipped toward the Black Lake in what was surely a desperate attempt to put out the flames.

 

" _Sonorus_ ," Severus said, wand aimed at his throat. "Come here, Liatris!" His words were magnified a hundred times. Severus's voice echoed with harsh, unforgiving command. There wasn't an ounce of compassion or care in his words. He sounded like a heartless beast, he realized.

 

He didn't feel pleased or proud when she dove through the air and landed behind him. Liatris was hunched in on herself, arms folded across her stomach. When Severus pointed his wand in her direction, she went still, as if awaiting a punishment she couldn't bear to face. " _Aguamenti_ ," Severus said, dousing the flames on her broom.

 

The dragon landed in front of him and roared. Severus gripped his wand and reminded himself that it wasn't the dragon's fault it had been sent after Liatris. It didn't need to die. Murdering a magical creature for something beyond its control was petty and foolish. But, oh, how he wanted to erase it from existence. It had attacked Liatris, who owned his heart. He didn't fear the dragon itself, because it couldn't attack him. No magical creature could attack a royal wizard or witch. However, Severus was very afraid of what it could do to Liatris.

 

"Get out of my sight," Severus hissed, before he gave in to the urge to erase the beast from creation.

 

Roaring, fire belching from its throat, the Hungarian Horntail leaped from its crouching position and flew back to the dragon keepers' camp in the Forbidden Forest.

 

Severus spun around to face Liatris, fully aware of what he would have to do for his peace of mind. It would only make her hate him more than she already did. However, he was sick and tired of these repeating nightmares. "Give me your broom, please, Heiress Potter," Severus said. As soon as her title passed his lips, he realized he had forgone it earlier and screamed her given name at her; she had never even given him permission to use it. Shame swelled within him.

 

Her scorched Nimbus 2000 clattered against the cobblestones. He didn't know if she released it in surprise or if she dropped it to keep as much distance between them as possible.

 

Severus took a deep breath and tried to settle his nerves. "I'm sorry for using your given name without permission. Please forgive me." Her silence burned. "I'm glad you're safe." He had been able to save her in time; he hadn't been too late. She was still alive. There was still a chance for them to bond and be happy. After all, her twenty-first birthday was much closer than it had been three years ago.

 

Liatris laughed, a tired, bitter, fragile, cracking laugh. She covered her mouth with her hands, but the disturbing sound leaked through regardless.

 

"You may go," Severus whispered, when he couldn't stand to hear it any longer. It was nothing like the melodious, cheerful, bell-like laughter she used to emit when she spent time with Daphne Greengrass.

 

She ran from his presence, again, leaving him behind, again, and self-hatred consumed Severus, again. Mother Magic was chipping away at Liatris. "If I succeed," Severus wondered, "will there even be anything left to claim?"

 

**Twenty-one:**

 

Severus stepped through the Floo into Potter Manor, heart pounding in his chest. Liatris was twenty-one years old now. She could legally bond, and then he would never have to worry about her being in danger. Once she was a royal, every magical being or creature would owe her allegiance and protection. Dragons and Dementors would flee before her. She would finally be _safe_.

 

However, Severus's excitement was snuffed the instant he saw Lord James Potter's face. It was solemn, a hard mask that Severus had never seen Lily's husband wear. His hazel eyes didn't sparkle with humor or mischief. He was a stone golem replica that had all the features and none of the emotions that were prevalent in James Potter.

 

"What happened to Liatris?" Severus demanded, mind jumping to the worst possible conclusions. But what could have harmed her beneath the ancestral Potter wards? Had an Abraxan thrown her? Had she choked at dinner? Had someone sent her a letter laced with contact poisons?

 

"Nothing," James replied. "She's all right." He sat in the chair behind his desk in the study and gestured for Severus to take the other seat. "For now."

 

Severus, who had just sat down, glared at James. "What do you mean 'for now,' James?" What had happened? "I can bond with her today. She'll be safe."

 

James pulled the stopper out of a decanter of liquor and drank straight from the bottle. He downed almost the entire thing before slamming it back onto the desk. His hands juddered, but that was the only break in his composure. "You can't bond with Liatris, Severus," James said.

 

The world seemed to stop spinning. "What did you say?" There was no way he had heard that right. James Potter was a family man to the core; he would do anything to keep his family safe. And he had always doted on Liatris—his only daughter.

 

A muscle twitched in James's cheek. "You can't bond with Liatris."

 

"Is this a joke, James?" Severus asked, not really believing it, but unable to stop himself from voicing the question. The Marauders were well known for their twisted sense of humor. But for James to sink this low in the name of a prank . . . he couldn't really imagine it.

 

"Does it look like I'm joking, Severus?" James inquired, hands gripping the edge of his desk so that his knuckles turned white from the pressure.

 

Severus shot to his feet, sending the chair he was sitting in tumbling back against the floor. It was as loud as a blasting curse. "She's in danger until I bond with her!" he yelled.

 

"Do you think I don't know that?" James asked, deadly quiet.

 

"Don't make me give you an order, James. You're my friend," Severus said. The words tasted of regret in his mouth. He could, as a royal, force James to give Liatris's hand to him in bonding. James was a pureblood noble and was bound to obey him. But Severus had never forced his will on any of his friends, and he didn't want to start now. He _never_ wanted to be a tyrant king.

 

"It wouldn't work, even if you did," James said. He sounded tired, so tired, as if he needed a month's supply of Dreamless Sleep Potion.

 

"James, she's almost died more times—"

 

James's composure snapped, and the windows of his study blew outward. The sound of shattering glass deafened the room. "Do you think I don't know that?" James hollered, face red and eyes blazing. "Do you think I've enjoyed spending every minute of every day for the past four plus years wondering if my daughter had been killed in some royal courtship quest? Do you really think I would've waited for you to come to me, if I could've given Liatris’s hand to you the _second_ she turned twenty-one?" James punched his desk; it broke down the middle. "I would do _anything_ to keep her alive and safe," James swore.

 

Severus watched James's magic ruin all it touched, only to mend it and ruin it again. James left no doubts as to his feelings on the topic, which only confused Severus more. If James felt so adamant about it—as adamant as Severus himself—then why wasn't Liatris already in the study wearing bonding robes? "Why?"

 

James collapsed back into his chair just as his magic repaired it for the twenty-third time. "She _can't_ bond with you yet," James said, stressing the second word.

 

The word offered little comfort. At least James hadn't said she wouldn't bond with him, or she didn't want to bond with him, or she would rather die than bond with him. _She can't bond with you_. If a bonding at this time was impossible, then Severus needed clarification.

 

"Why?" he ground out. This was supposed to be the day when everything finally went his way. Liatris was supposed to be safe, and his bride. It felt like Mother Magic was laughing in his face, taunting him, asking him if he had really expected the quest for love to be so simple.

 

"I . . ."

 

Severus turned to face her as soon as she started speaking. Liatris leaned against the doorway, her arms clutching her waist. Her robes were a fetching shade of red that enhanced her dark hair and pale skin. She was breathtaking, and the thought of not being able to make her his yet angered Severus. It felt like he had been waiting eons for her. However, her posture screeched the last words she had spoken to him: _Please don't touch me_.

 

"Yes, Heiress Potter," he asked. Severus forced himself to speak gently; it took a great deal of effort.

 

"I . . . I haven't been released by the family magics," Liatris whispered, shame coloring her voice.

 

Cold ate through Severus's heart, as if he had just been impaled on the bony hand of a Dementor. Until a witch was released by family law and magics, it was magically impossible for her to bond. Liatris was twenty-one years old now, much older than most witches reached their maturity. All others that he knew of were released between the ages of fifteen and seventeen; the Potter family was the only exception. And yet . . .

 

"I'm sorry for being such a burden, your majesty," Liatris muttered before leaving the room. Her footsteps pounded against the marble flooring.

 

"I'm sorry, Severus," James said, the tiredness leaking through. "We had hoped that the problem would resolve itself, but it hasn't. I’m researching into what’s gone wrong and why she wasn’t released this morning. When I find out, I give you my word that you'll be told immediately.

 

Severus stared at the empty doorway, still frigid. She hadn't been lying; there hadn't been a hint of deceit in her voice. However, Severus couldn't help but wonder if Liatris was clinging to her family magics to suppress her full maturation, all in the desire to keep Severus from touching her. That might not be the case, but what if it was? What if the witch he had come to love would rather chance dying than be in his arms?

 

**Twenty-two:**

 

Two and a half weeks before the end of Liatris's final year as an Apprentice at Hogwarts, Severus opened the door of his private chambers at 9:43 p.m. The angry words about disturbing his evening were swallowed at the sight before him.

 

Liatris stood in the hallway, her hand still raised; it shook, as if she had barely been able to bring herself to knock. Her head was lowered, but she wasn't hunched over for once—a marked difference. Her hair hung down her back, reaching farther than he had expected. White ribbons were woven through it. She wore the finest white dress robes that Severus had ever seen; the sleeves were lace, allowing him glimpses of her skin, and the high neckline was also lace.

 

Had she finally been released by the Potter family magics?

 

While he had waited for her to reach her maturation, danger had become more prevalent. There was the Mermish hostage incident, and the time Hagrid hid a Cerberus in the school, not to mention when that Troll had somehow gotten in. There was a detention assigned by McGonagall that ended up with a battle against Acromantula in the Forbidden Forest. And, of course, there were less spectacular threats: poisons, curses, jealous witches, being shoved down the stairs, and an encounter with the Mirror of Erised, which had almost trapped her heart and mind.

 

Not wanting to get his hopes up, Severus stepped to the side and asked, "Would you like to come in, Heiress Potter?"

 

"Liatris, please," she said. Then Liatris nodded and walked into his chambers, not flinching as she brushed past him, and not huddling away as he closed the door behind her.

 

"Liatris?" Severus asked, voice tentative. He shouldn’t get his hopes up, he chided himself. James and Lily might've asked her to come get his opinion on future bonding robes, to determine if they were good enough for a princess.

 

"When I was seven," said Liatris, "I snuck outside into the manor gardens when I was supposed to be in bed. But Daddy had told me a story about shooting stars and wishes, and I knew what I wanted to wish for." Liatris glanced up and locked gazes with Severus. "I wished I could grow up to be a princess." She placed a steady hand against Severus's cheek, though her lips wobbled and her eyes were wet. "I didn't know how much pain that would cause you, or how much of a burden I would become, or I never would've said it, Sev—your majesty." The tears spilled over. "I just wanted to be happy, but not at the cost of anyone else's happiness." She looked down at the floor. "Especially yours."

 

Somehow, it must've been a miracle, Severus's hand didn't tremble as he fingered the lace of her sleeve. "Is this . . . ? Can you . . . ?"

 

Her cheeks flushed as she whispered an answer to his question. "I can bond."

 

The fear that had weighed down his soul for almost six years evaporated. Not only would she finally be safe, but, most importantly, she didn't hate him. She had been avoiding him because she blamed herself for what had happened, and hadn't wanted to hurt him. Beloved fool. How could he regret loving his lady?

 

Severus touched her as if she were a piece of finely spun crystal. When she was nearer than she had been since he held her as a nineteen-year-old, Severus lowered his head for a kiss. He gave her plenty of time to object. Liatris didn't; she closed her eyes and leaned against him. Her lips were softer than he had imagined.

 

The kiss didn't stay gentle for long, though. They had both spent too long cloaked in fear or worry. Liatris's fingernails dragged across his scalp and Severus tasted the inside of her mouth. He didn't stop kissing her until he felt himself hanging onto the reins of his control by luck alone.

 

Severus had to put his hands on her shoulders and push her away from him. The sight of her passion-glazed eyes, and the firm grip she had on his hair did little to calm his desire. "Focus," he gritted out, warning himself.

 

His voice seemed to startle Liatris, because her cheeks flushed even brighter as she backed up another step. "Your M-Majesty—"

 

Oh, no, that wouldn't do at all. "Severus," he interrupted. "I want you to call me Severus."

 

Her eyelids fell to half-mast as she purred his name. "Severus."

 

Severus gulped and forced himself down on one knee, even though all he wanted to do was pull Liatris back into his arms. He pressed a kiss against the palm of her left land, forcing his heart magic to travel through his lips, into her skin, and to her own heart.

 

"Severus!" she moaned, eyes fluttering shut.

 

_Bear with it a little longer_ was his mantra as he waited for the betrothal bond to take hold and settle. As soon as it did, he stood up and hugged Liatris. Severus's breath was ragged as he whispered reassurances in her ear. "You're insane, Liatris, if you think I could ever be happy without you."

 

Liatris flushed and took a step toward the fireplace. “Father’s waiting for us at the manor. He said you’ve waited longer than he ever had to wait, and . . . other things.” She ducked her head. “I’m supposed to inform you that everyone who matters is waiting to witness our bonding.”

 

Severus reclaimed her lips, loathing each second they were parted from his own. Then he tangled their fingers together with a grin. “That’s true. I gave your father my ward, my sister in all but blood, when we were seventeen. He’s kept my princess much too long.” He threw Floo powder into the fireplace, but didn’t look away from his fiancée. “Let me be your wish come true.”

 

James beamed at them when they stepped through the fireplace. He clapped Severus on the shoulder. “I’ll give you the same warning you gave me when I bonded with Lily. If you ever intentionally hurt her, there is no escaping from my wrath.” He waved his wand, and Severus’s teaching robes transformed into expensive bonding robes.

 

Severus placed his fist over his heart and said, “You have my word.”

 

“Severus wouldn’t hurt me, Daddy,” Liatris said with a glare. “In all of history, what Prince has ever hurt his princess?”

 

James kissed Liatris’s forehead. “None, of course. I’m just grateful he won the quest.”

 

Gritting his teeth, Severus rubbed his thumb over the back of Liatris’s hand. Not all of his ancestors had succeeded. More than one had watched their beloved die, and then lived with the knowledge that they had been unable to protect their princess—their sole chance for love. After all, only a Muggle would be foolish enough to think Guinevere was the love of King Arthur’s life. A true princess would be unable to cheat on her Prince. Even Arthur, one of the greatest wizards of all time, had failed the quest that mattered most. If it weren’t for his brother in all but blood, Merlin Emrys, Severus knew Arthur would’ve taken his own life.

 

“Everyone’s waiting. Let’s go. It’s been much too long since we’ve had a true King and Queen.” James led the way out of the room.

 

The ballroom at Potter Manor was not, to Severus’s surprise, filled to the brim. It held around fifty guests—those nearest and dearest to his and Liatris’s hearts. “Ready?”

 

“I was born ready,” Liatris replied. She smiled and knelt on the royal purple velvet cushion with him.

 

Severus’s closest friends—Lord James Potter, Heir Lucius Malfoy, Heir Sirius Black, Master Regulus Black, Heir Bartemius Crouch Jr., and Master Rabastan Lestrange—stood around them in a circle. Each held a candle.

 

James said, “A bonding is never-ending, unbreakable, and full of light and passion. We are the circle.”

 

Heiress Daphne Longbottom née Greengrass and Heiress Lavender Prewett née Brown knelt and tied white ribbons around their joined hands and wrists. “A bonding is a joining, a merging of two people into one—body, magic, and soul. We are the ribbon,” Daphne said. She was heavy with child.

 

Severus awaited the day when Liatris would bear their children. He wanted to feel little feet kicking his palm through her stomach. He wanted his family to grow. He _wanted_.

 

Lily stood over them holding an ornate gold goblet. She kissed Severus’s forehead, and then Liatris’s. “A bonding is fruitful—the renewal of life and magic. I am the goblet.” She held it to both their lips, and they drank the pomegranate juice one after the other.

 

Heir Charles Potter, Liatris’s nineteen-year-old brother, set a crown on each of their heads. Ah, so it was to be a bonding and coronation in one. “What Mother Magic has woven, let no one tear asunder. Blessed be.”

 

All the guests said, “Blessed be.”

 

Liatris’s cheek brushed his as she leaned up and whispered his own words back to him. “Let me be your wish come true.”

 

Tears stung his eyes as he breathed her in. Didn’t she understand? She already was, always had been, and always would be. Beloved fool.


End file.
